I have told you all before that I am a viewer of some of the better (read: trashier and more outrageous) reality shows on television. Over the years I have watched cooks, bakers, chefs, survivors, racers, singers, dancers, models, designers, personal trainers, apprentices, people and things getting make-overs, home buyers, home sellers, house flippers, motorcycle builders, gun makers, pregnant teenagers, teenage mothers, self-involved twenty- and thirty-somethings, bachelors and bachelorettes, people getting married, people having babies, parents of eight, parents of eighteen and then nineteen, table flippers, screamers, and fighters… just to name a few.
Man, I watch a lot of television. But that’s not really the point here.
I remember when MTV first aired “The Real World” in 1992. I could not get enough of that show. At 21, I thought that what those kids were doing was what I wanted to be doing… living with strangers in a loft in So-Ho, trying to make it as a model or a dancer or a rapper, having interesting life experiences, and fighting the good fight about politics or racism or sexual orientation. Well, not really, but something like that.
Then I got married and watched “A Baby Story,” and I decided that I wanted to try a peaceful water birth in my living room, or at least have a professional TV cameraman getting the money shot of my baby coming into this world. Well, not really, but something like that.
Next I saw “Flipping Out” and wanted to be Jeff’s loyal assistant, who commiserated with him about all of the idiots in the world and how hard it is to find reliable help, all while I was the one who kept his businesses running smoothly and successfully. And then that Bethenny Frankel inspired me to always approach life from a place of “Yes.” But mostly she makes me want to drink margaritas. Again, not really, but (you know the drill), especially since I am the devil’s advocate and I prefer wine.
Then I discovered the “Real Housewives” series. My favorites are New Jersey and Atlanta, for obvious reasons. I grew up in Jersey (even though I must clarify that North Jersey is a completely different beast than South Jersey), and recognize so many of the places and Jersey-isms on the show. Atlanta’s Kim lives just doors down from my parent’s townhouse. Her daughter went to my daughter’s middle school. My column gets published in NeNe’s neighborhood magazine. I entertained the thought of buying something from Kandi’s toy line (Sheepdog can thank 50 Shades for that thought process, although I didn’t buy anything… so get your panties out of a twist, Kids A&B). These shows made me want to be like these women. Well…
I am being as sarcastic as the show title when I say that. I do not want to be anything like most of these women. I already am a real housewife and I love my life. Here I do dishes and laundry and Swiffer the floors all day. I drive my kids to lessons and practices and playdates. I go to Kroger and Publix and Target and Walgreens. I make dinners and pack lunches and I pick up pizza and chinese food. And I do it all in exercise clothes (earlier this year I wore workout clothes every single day for well over a month and I never got around to exercising even once – oh well, at least I burned some calories getting those sports bras on and off). How about they make a show about me? Well, not really, but something like that.
Sister B and her goofball neighborhood friends made this video while I suppose their unsuspecting husbands did the chores and watched the kids. It’s no “Bumpin in the Burbs” by the Notorious D-A-D, but it may make you giggle. Especially the pine straw chick.
Wish me luck for tomorrow…